Autumn Calls

Autumn calls, but few there be that hear her.
   The loud, bright glare of California sun drowns out her voice.,
So does the muted dinge of dusty skies and smokey sun.
   She thus calls but most listen not—by choice.
  
Oh, there might be a tree or two that starts to change its leaves,
   Dropping green for yellow—but usually brown like moldy wheat.
There are the cool mornings that almost speak of cold,
   But quickly lose their chill amid the blaring glare of summer's incessant heat.

Ah, Autumn can you speak louder and call more insistently?
   Call to us with cool, crisp words more persistently?

Our skies are choked with dust and heat,
   Our land is plagued with drought before.
We long to see the cool, cool winds.
   And feel the life-giving rains once more

Pray to the Lord of the Harvest that there may be
   Workers to come and harvest the fields.
But we also pray that the Lord of the Skies would send rain,
   Rain to soften the land to give fruit and yield.

Autumns calls, but no one listens
  The loud, bright dazzle of sins blocks her calls.
So few stop to listen to that still, small voice.

We need the softening rains of Autumn,
   We need the gentle rains from God.
We need the indwelling of His Spirit,
   We need His poke that will prod!

Send us Autumn rains and revival, Lord.
   Send us life giving refreshment from Your Grace
We will perish without the cooling rains;
   Let us Your Love and Law embrace!

- D. Benning

9 - 11

Fallen!  Fallen!
Wailed the Beloved.
Toppled Towers' twisted tonnage tangled tangibly.

The Dust!  The Dust!
Palpable presentiment; people press, plod, part, panic;
Collapse in despair and wail nationally.

Empty! Empty! are the skies.
She, whose skies were full of commerce,
   now grieves as a widow.
Bitterly bemoaning in bedarkened abandonment—
   Even her tears fail her in this malady.

Laughter!  Laughter!
How her enemies mock her fall:
  "She who was once mighty now sits in dust!"
She wraps herself in patriotism valiantly.

Meaningless!  Meaningless!
Her brief period of mourning proved insincere:
Faux fessing of faith and Fatherhood feigned for friendly favors.
She adds sin upon sin unto her vanity.

Repent!  Repent!
Therein is your salvation and your strength!
Yet she flees foolhardily for frittered fortunes, fell failure and future fires.
Sin has been her ruin yet she sinks further happily.

Have Mercy! Have Mercy!
O Lord and God we deserve not your grace,
But we beg, beseech, bid, bow, believe, beset and besiege Your Bench
For revival—the showers of blessing to heal our depravity!

- D. Benning

For thus says the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel:

“In returning and rest you shall be saved;
In quietness and confidence shall be your strength.”
But you would not...

Isa. 30:15

Sunrise, North Dixon, 11-Sep-2015

Diary of an Old Soul

Two selections from George MacDonald's work, Diary of an Old Soul.

January 1st

LORD, what I once had done with youthful might,

Had I been from the first true to the truth,

Grant me, now old, to do--with better sight,

And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth;

So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth,

Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain,

Round to his best--young eyes and heart and brain.

May 26th

My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not;

I think thy answers make me what I am.

Like weary waves thought follows upon thought,

But the still depth beneath is all thine own,

And there thou mov'st in paths to us unknown.

Out of strange strife thy peace is strangely wrought;

If the lion in us pray--thou answerest the lamb.

George MacDonald

 

I Asked the Lord That I Might Grow

John Newton

by John Newton

I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace;
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek, more earnestly, His face.

’Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has answered prayer!
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He’d answer my request;
And by His love’s constraining pow’r,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
And let the angry pow’rs of hell
Assault my soul in every part.

Yea more, with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this, I trembling cried,
Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?
“ ’Tis in this way,” the Lord replied,
“I answer prayer for grace and faith.

These inward trials I employ,
From self, and pride, to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou may’st find thy all in Me.”

“I Asked The Lord” — by Indelible Grace

The Hollow of His Hand

The storm clouds gather around my soul
And buffet me within.
The ocean churns, the waters foam
And drown me in my sin.
I see far off almost out of view
A peaceful happy land
Where all are safe within His care:
In the Hollow of His Hand.

My Savior Lord—O Sovereign King—
Forgive me for I've sinned:
I've looked away from Thy gracious face
And now my sight is dimmed.
Restored to me the joy, dear Lord—
Thy Mercy is so Grand.
Please keep me there within Thy care:
In the Hollow of Thy Hand.

The raging storm around me blows
But sheltered I am here.
The waters rush and floods may rise
But still there is no fear.
For God Above in Gentle Love
Has all things in His Plan.
Thus safe am I within His Care:
In the Hollow of His Hand!

- D. Benning

09-May-1983